Page 83 of Kiss the Girl

“Look, I get it,” she told him. “We all handle grief in our own way. You lashed out; I’m choosing to keep my distance.” Swallowing hard, she felt her grip on the door tighten. “Now…I really am tired and was getting ready to go to sleep, so…goodnight.”

The door was halfway shut when he spoke.

Just one word.

“Please.”

Dammit. When she looked up at him, she didn’t see the former Marine or the sexy man she’d been sleeping with; she saw a man who was broken and devastated. She knew the feeling well and also knew what it was like to have to feel that way alone. It would be petty to turn him away, and without a word, she stepped back and motioned for him to come in.

Silently, she closed the door and locked it and went to sit back down on the recliner while Jackson took the couch. He looked just as tired as she felt and even though there was a part of her that was still mad at him, the part of her that still had deep feelings for him needed to make sure he was okay.

“How are you doing?” she asked softly.

His head lolled back against the cushions even as he shook it. “Sad. I’m just so damn sad.”

“Me too.” Curling her legs up under her, Savannah took a moment to inhale slightly. The chair smelled like Cash’s cologne and it was oddly comforting. “Is anyone staying at the hospital with him tonight?”

“Garrett. Austin was going to, but Mia wasn’t feeling great, so he wanted to be home with her.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he straightened. “This should be an exciting time for them. They’re about to have a baby and they’re having to deal with this. I’m sad, I’m angry, I’m…I’m a fucking mess.”

That made her laugh a little. “That’s a pretty accurate description for all of us right now. You’re not alone.”

“Yeah, well…it doesn’t make it any easier.” He paused and seemed to be carefully considering his next words. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me something about him. Tell me a story that comes to mind when you think of him,” he asked, practically pleading. “I’ve been sitting in that hospital all damn day trying to think of something good, and it’s like I can’t remember anything.”

And just like that, her heart broke for him and she did the only thing she could.

Standing, she walked over and sat on the couch beside him and told him story after story of some of the craziest things she remembered Cash doing—from the time he dressed as a clown when she was in the hospital undergoing a bunch of invasive tests, to how he used to put flowers on her locker when she was in high school on Valentine’s Day, to the time he actually went and bought her tampons when she got her first period and her father was too embarrassed to go to the store and buy them.

“You would have thought he’d fought some epic battle,” she said with a laugh. “He walked through the door and held the grocery bag up over his head like it was a prize.”

Jackson laughed with her. “Wow. Just…wow.”

After that, he shared some of the things he remembered from when he was a kid. “He taught me how to throw a football and we would stay out in the yard for hours perfecting it. I swear he’s the reason I made quarterback in high school.”

“That’s a good memory.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Pausing, he smiled at her and it was sweet and a little sleepy. “I got my love of classic rock music from him. He was always playing Aerosmith, Journey, and Bruce Springsteen. Always. When he was home, there was always music playing in the house.”

“And he would always sing along,” she said, “and he has the worst singing voice.”

“Yes! Oh, my gosh…the worst. Sometimes he’d be grilling something on the barbecue with a beer in one hand and some giant utensil in the other that he’d used as a microphone. We’d all beg him to stop, but it just made him sing louder.”

Before she knew it, her head was resting on his shoulder. “Even though he missed out on so much of your life, it doesn’t mean you’re not going to miss him when he’s gone.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Nodding, she yawned, and it was as if all the stress and anxiety of the day finally caught up with her and it was hard to keep her eyes open.

“Come on, sleepy girl. It’s late and I know you’re tired.”

“It’s not that late,” she said around another yawn.

“It’s after midnight.”

“That can’t be right. It was barely nine when you got here.” How was it possible they had been talking for that long?